Remind Me
by ShaeLynn
Summary: Seeing something unexpected can change a view. Learning how to help the unexpected can help yourself. HD changing viewpoints noted not a happygolucky story.
1. 1 of 3

Title:Remind Me (1/3) 

**Disclaimer: I do not own, wish I did, but I don't. Anything recognizable including all characters, places, and images are under trademark through JKR and the companies that publish the books and make the movies. I only own my plot line.**

**Author: ShaeLynn Teelle**

**Warning: Slash/yaoi/guys with guys. Mixed p.o.v.**

**Inspiration: I'm always here to catch him when he falls. The man with the broken smile. And he will be loved. (I do not own the song and forget whom it's by.)**

**If someone wants to archive, please ask first. You won't be turned down, but I would like to know where it's going. Thank you.**

**Polite constructive criticism is welcome; FLAMES WILL BE FED TO THE DRAGON IN MY BED.**

_1st Person p.o.v. past tense_

It took years of glaring before I finally saw him. Not until mid-way through our last year at Hogwarts. It was a Hogsmead weekend. I know because I was the only one of my house that hadn't gone, beyond those that were too young. I watched as he nearly stumbled about under the Quidditch stands and all I felt at first was anger and hatred. This was my spot. It was where I went to get some quiet, some peace, away from the others in my house. I thought that perhaps he was lost and was about to shout at him, tell him to get back to his own side of the pitch.

Then, he turned to me and my mouth closed without a sound as I saw his eyes. The normally sharp, expressive eyes, that were so quick to ignite under the anger I strived to start within him, were dull, life-less, like they had given up on so much. Including happiness. When he saw me, when our eyes met, I had expected anger, at least at having seen him like that. I would have been raging at him if our positions were reversed, but there are more than just a few reasons why we were placed in such opposite houses, though we each had qualities of the other.

He wasn't raging. He didn't even seem annoyed. He watched me for a moment, staring into my shocked eyes before slowly turning away as though his school rival hadn't even been there. He left the maze of pillars and crossbeams that created the underside of the stands, stumbling slightly still, but with more grace and somehow calmer than he had been. I could only watch him go. I don't know if he expected me to say anything later, to use what had happened against him, but I didn't.

There was just something there, something in his eyes and the indifferent way he had turned and left, but something about the encounter would not even let me think of using it against him. In fact, neither of us ever mentioned that first encounter, nor the subsequent ones. I'd be standing or sitting, leaning against my usual post, and he would come stumbling into the area, sometimes breathing hard as though he had run straight from the school. He would stare at me for a moment or two before joining me in my silence.

It was oddly comfortable sitting there together without speaking and the more it happened the more I began to notice little things. If he arrived out-of-breath his hands would twitch where they rested, sometimes wringing together, sometimes shaking noticeably until I couldn't stand it any longer one day and clasped one hand in mine to stop the motion. He looked at me in surprise before covering my hand with his other one as well. It became the norm and I felt strangely grateful that I had given him something to hold on to when he needed it most.

Then, one Hogsmead weekend he didn't come. I waited until the other students began returning, thinking that perhaps he had finally returned to the rest of his little group, but he wasn't there. I asked them and they shrugged, casually assuming he had been where he always went on such weekends.

I wouldn't admit to anyone that I was worried, even to myself. Not even when I found him passed out in an empty room at the top of an unused tower, his eyes red and puffy, but there were no marks of tears on his face. I didn't spell him awake and if there had been any of my house to see, they would have thought I was someone else. Even I was shocked by my actions though I didn't question them. I woke him like a friend, something I was not familiar with. And when he woke and looked about in confusion, I reassured him that he was okay and told him where we were.

We sat in silence for a long time, both missing dinner and getting close to curfew. He had clung to my hand the entire time that he sat near me, close enough to feel the body heat from each other. He stood to leave, but before he left the room he told me that he always came there when he couldn't go to the pitch, when there were too many people around to sneak away.

I don't know why he told me, not until I began going there myself, just needing to be away from my housemates and the pressures in my life. We began meeting there two or three times a week. There were no notes to each other, no contact outside the room that wasn't in rivalry. Outside of the time we spent alone together I was the same sneering bastard the school had seen for nearly seven years and he returned to his sharp eyed, easily riled self.

There were no words ever spoken of our meetings, just a catch of the eyes at dinner or in the hallway between classes and I would know that he would be there. I never realized it at first, but I began to do the same. I would be the one to meet his eyes, silently telling him that I needed time away from my life and the school and he would come.

By the last month of school our meetings had increased to every other day. We no longer even needed the minute silent interactions to tell the other. Just watching each other in our classes told us what was happening with the other. Not a single person in either of our groups saw the signs that we knew so well. The tremble in his hands as he clenched them together in his lap or held his quill to take notes. The clenching of my hands on the tabletop or against the quills I had regularly begun to snap.

Then, there was an attack within his tower. The teachers kept it quiet, quieter than anything had ever been kept before in Hogwarts. He wasn't in classes and no one would say a word about where he was, not even when I 'asked' his friends. It took a day and a half to discover where he was and it happened quite by accident. I was hit with a bludger just as I caught the snitch in the match against Hufflepuff. I entered the infirmary, my left arm throbbing horribly.

There I saw hair that I could never mistake. His face was turned away with the sheet pulled up to his chin, but I knew who it was without asking Madam Pomfrey. I wasn't allowed to get near him, the medi-witch made sure of that. I was extremely angry, but looking back I can't blame her. It wasn't a known thing that we weren't the enemies we pretended to be. My arm was healed and I was sent back to my room before curfew.

The advantage of being Head Boy was my own room. I didn't remain there any longer than I had to. I slipped out shortly after the other prefects had finished their rounds and made my way back to the infirmary. I didn't even know if he was conscious or not. All I really knew was that it had been three days, far too long, since we were able to be in the others' company without our masks of animosity. I didn't know about him, but I had permanent indents in my palms from how hard and how often I had been clenching my hands since we had last met in the tower.

There was no one else in the infirmary when I entered. At first I didn't even see him with all the lights off and the moon half-covered in clouds. Then, he sat up and faced me. I saw a bruise on one side of his face and then I saw his hands clenched and shaking in the covers keeping him warm. Neither of us said a word. I closed the infirmary doors and went to his side.

Before I could even sit down and reach for his hands as I always had before, he reached up and enclosed mine between his. Neither the shaking nor the clenching stopped as he squeezed my hand like it was his only lifeline to what was happening. I couldn't bear to see him like that and, for the first time in my life, I reached out and pulled another person against me with my free arm in comfort. He went still for a moment before releasing my hand with one of his and gripping the back of my robes, burying his face against me as his shoulders shook. I took some time before I began to feel the wetness soaking through my robes and when I realized it was his tears finally shed, I held him against me that much tighter.

Eventually, I found myself lying beside him on the narrow bed. He was half draped over me with his face still buried in my chest, though the tears had finally ceased. I knew it had to be past midnight and I made to leave, but his arms tightened around me.

Then, I heard a mumbled 'Please' against my chest. The first word spoken by either of us when we were alone since that first night I found him in the tower and I knew it was a request for me to stay. I tried to think of what could happen if I did and I warned him that someone would see.

'I don't care,' he said and met my eyes.

Looking down into those eyes that had begun to haunt my dreams I saw a shadow, deeper than any I had before seen in his eyes, and couldn't say no. I couldn't speak at all, just nodded and pulled my cloak tighter about me while pulling the blankets higher on him. We fell asleep like that, his head using my chest as a pillow. Two of our hands holding onto one another while his other arm held my arm and mine was over his back.

In the morning I was rather expecting to be awoken by Madam Pomfrey's outraged cry or perhaps that of one of our Head of Houses', but I didn't hear any of that. Instead I woke on my own, still holding him as I had when we'd fallen asleep. I didn't pay much attention to anything around me. Checking to ensure he was still sleeping well seemed to be my main priority. After that I lightly squeezed his hand for reassurance and closed my eyes again, content to return to the comfortable anonymousness of sleep.

Unfortunately the others invading the infirmary were not so content, as I heard a rather pointed cough from the side of the bed. I opened my eyes again to see the Headmaster standing at the side of the bed with Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape behind him. At the other side of the infirmary Madam Pomfrey was busy with something, but she kept throwing glances at us, glances that I couldn't read. Professor McGonagall was pale with her lips pressed tightly together, just watching us. Professor Snape was glaring, but I knew beneath his cold exterior he was just as shocked and surprised as the other Professor.

Before any of them could say anything, I nudged my companion's shoulder to wake him. He opened his eyes and looked at the Professors standing beside the bed. I had been waiting for him to pull away or say something, but he didn't. He turned his face away, burrowing closer, so that I could feel the heat from his breath as it slowed and evened. Not wanting to lose our quiet time together that we had finally gotten to have, I followed his example, turning my face away from the Professors and returning to sleep, the scent of his hair invading my senses.

It wasn't until the end of that week that I found out why none of the Professors had woken us. From the beginning of seventh year he had begun to react violently to being woken, especially from nightmares or other dreams. The Professors thought he had reacted calmly with me because, for once, he hadn't been dreaming. At least that's what they thought and the next day insisted I returned to my classes. I still find it hard to believe I slept through an entire day, though I've done it twice since.

No matter what Madam Pomfrey said, I continued returning to spend the nights in the infirmary, he and I both resuming our silences together. It's not as though I could visit between classes anyway. The rest of his little troop, the ones that didn't know where he was on weekends or at night, were always crowding his bedside during the daylight hours, even when he was asleep.

Then, one night I came to the infirmary earlier than usual to find him in the midst of a nightmare with the same three Professors present as before, but simply watching him. I felt disgust at seeing their inaction and when he cried out I had enough. I rudely brushed between the three and took hold of one of his hands, my other resting lightly on his shoulder.

He didn't open his eyes, but I knew the nightmare was over as he stopped moving harshly against the bed, his breathing slowly quieting. When he opened his eyes he slid over on the bed, making room for me that I filled without complaint as I had every night. His hands held tight to the one I had gripped his with and the trembling slowly subsided as he leaned against me, relaxing. No one spoke until I glared at the Professors for having left him sit. Then Dumbledore explained about what usually happened when my companion was woken out of a nightmare or dream. I nodded and ignored the Professors, letting them believe what they wanted to about the two of us.

When they finally left I posed a question to him I had been wanting to for a few weeks. We never spoke much so I didn't know what his plans were for after our seventh year was finished. Apparently he wasn't too sure either. He was going to find a quiet place to stay, probably near the school, and Dumbledore had arranged for an apprenticeship to prepare him for the 'Inevitable'. I didn't ask.

At the time I had a fairly good idea of what and whom the 'Inevitable' involved. I told him of my plans. My Head of House had acquired me an apprenticeship with a colleague and I would apparate six days a week to his private home for tutoring as everything was done in the man's own surroundings. Then, I told him of the small flat I already had waiting for me in a quiet Muggle town in the southern portion of England.

I had no idea how he would react to my next statement, but I invited him, timidly, to share the flat with me in Canterbury. He was silent and I was sure that at any moment he would burst out into laughter at my offer. The only thing he asked was if Canterbury had a wizarding area like Diagon Alley in London. It didn't. I told him there were only a few shops nestled in small areas that dealt with wizards as well as Muggles and many were run by Muggles with a wizarding partner.

It only took a few more moments for our plans to be made. He would go to his best friend's home for a few days as he had already promised. Then, he would apparate to a safe location in Canterbury where I would be waiting and we would go to the flat so he could settle in. The plans went well. He told his group that they could visit when they wanted if they gave him a day's notice by owl. There was no floo in the flat, which I ensured and a basic set of apparition wards were erected around the area with the help of my friends.

I had two friends, unknown to the rest of the school, that were allowed to come visit me at any time. One was a half-blood, though she had known to hide it before reaching the school as she was placed in the Snake's Den, and the other, her fiancée, had no family left because of the Dark Lord. It was also the reason why he hated the Dark Lord and would never join or help that mad-man. They knew about him.

I never told them, but she followed me one day, wondering where I always disappeared to when I came back so calm. She saw him and I in our tower and asked me about it the next time we were alone. I made sure that he knew about them several days before seventh year ended, only a day or two after he was released from the infirmary. The year ended quickly, he and I spending the last night in the tower, soaking up the other's comforting presence. Neither of us knew what would happen in the four days we wouldn't see each other.


	2. 2 of 3

Title:Remind Me (2/3) 

**Disclaimer: I do not own, wish I did, but I don't. Anything recognizable including all characters, places, and images are under trademark through JKR and the companies that publish the books and make the movies. I only own my plot line.**

**Author: ShaeLynn Teelle**

**Warning: Slash/yaoi/guys with guys. Mixed p.o.v.**

**Inspiration: I'm always here to catch him when he falls. The man with the broken smile. And he will be loved. (I do not own the song and forget whom it's by.)**

**If someone wants to archive, please ask first. You won't be turned down, but I would like to know where it's going. Thank you.**

**Polite constructive criticism is welcome; FLAMES WILL BE FED TO THE DRAGON IN MY BED.**

_1st Person p.o.v. past tense_

Our plans went without fail until the afternoon he was to come to Canterbury. That morning I had a bad feeling in my stomach, a feeling that something was not right. The last time I had felt like that… I didn't even like to think about it. It was the one secret I knew I had to tell him, but I was sure he would turn away from me, taking his comforting presence as well.

I asked my friends to meet me at the Cathedral gates near the waterway that went through part of the city. The entire area had a permanent Notice-Me-Not spell on one corner of the street where he would apparate to and many would believe he had come out of the Cathedral proper. I'm glad I asked them. I never made it.

I had gone to Diagon Alley for some needed things, food, parchment, and the like. I had enough concealment charms on me to blend into the general crowd without problems. Somehow it wasn't enough. Arms wrapped about me and pulled me into one of the side alleys, then, portkeyed us both to the manor. I don't remember much of what happened, but I didn't tell them anything.

After numerous hours my father grew bored with getting the same unhelpful answers from me and sent me to my chambers. From there I flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and called the Knight Bus. My dark clothes blended into the few bloodstains and kept any visible signs of what happened hidden well enough in the dark. I paid my fare to Canterbury Cathedral and found a bed at the back of the bus, lying down, but unable to sleep.

The entire half hour trip my mind kept revolving around two things, what he was thinking about me not being there and that I had to tell him what happened over the Christmas holidays in seventh year. Before I met him; before I knew him; and well before I ever cared about him.

How I managed to stumble the many streets to our flat after I was dropped off I'll never know. I reached it and fumbled with the lock. It was dark inside when I entered, no sign that anyone else had been there since I left and my heavy breathing echoed about the front room. I managed to close the door and ensure the lock was secure before I fell to my knees and promptly passed out.

The next morning I awoke in my bed, sore, but not in the pain I was the night before. I slid out of my bed, using the wall for support and noticed I was only wearing a pair of light sleep pants and my wounds were bandaged. I also could see the Dark Mark standing out in stark contrast to my pale skin. I closed my eyes, wishing I had done things differently and he had found out about it in some way less damaging to whatever it was we had. I was certain he had left as soon as my wounds were bandaged, or that perhaps he had never been there and it was one of my friends that had helped me as they had a spare key. When I opened my eyes again it was to see him standing before me. His green eyes just watching me, not accusing, just watching.

'I didn't want it,' were the first words from my mouth, not wanting him to believe I had willingly gotten such a thing.

He just stood there looking at me for minutes, hours, I don't know. Finally he asked what my orders had been, what my mission was. He knew I had never been called away for meetings. I closed my eyes. How could I tell him that my orders were to do exactly what I had done? He asked me again. I couldn't lie to him; I didn't want to. I told him what my orders were. Orders that I never planned to carry out. Orders to get close to him and take him to the Dark Lord.

He didn't say anything, just walked out of the room. I heard him moving around in the next room before the sounds drifted off. For a moment I considered crawling back into my bed and staying there until someone either killed me or I died of starvation. Then, I heard brief movements from somewhere in the apartment and I left my room, using the walls for support.

The only thought on my mind was that I had one more chance to see him, to try to convince him I hadn't gotten close to him because of orders and I wanted nothing to do with Voldemort. I entered the small kitchen and stopped, stunned. There he was, not packed, sitting at the small four-person table, reading the Daily Prophet and calmly eating sausage and toast.

He glanced up at me once before pouring orange juice in the glass across from him and returning to his paper. Gingerly I sat down at the table, where there was another plate and the orange juice waited. We didn't say much over that first meal. He asked who had damaged me and if magic was used. I answered as much as I knew, waiting patiently for the 'other shoe to drop' and for him to pack up his things and leave again.

After we had both eaten our fill, not very much on either of our parts, he directed me into the small bathroom. There I perched on the closed toilet seat, the shower being a single stall only big enough for one person to fit comfortably inside and no ledge near the floor to rest upon. Silently he went about pulling off the old bandages, casting cleaning spells on everything, healing spells on the smaller wounds, and rebandaging everything that needed it.

I knew there were things he couldn't fix, that only a medi-witch could. I could feel them when I moved around, feel them when I breathed or twisted at all, but I couldn't go to St. Mungo's. It was completely out of the question as too many questions would be asked and the injuries were too extensive to blame on a fall. And my father would be notified. It's rather impossibly to hide who I am if I need medical attention. He took me back to the sitting room, one arm about my waist, keeping my steady. He sat next to me, picking up a book, some Muggle novel, and reading.

When I just sat there unmoving, he told me to rest and motioned for me to lie down. So I did, my head resting against his thigh. The familiar calming sensation I associated with his touch flowed over me and I relaxed. I don't remember falling asleep. At the time I could only remember one other time I had slept so well and without nightmares. Then, I heard what had awoken me. There were quiet voices nearby, ones that were familiar, but I only readily recognized his. It was then, before I opened my eyes, that I was aware of still using his thigh for a pillow and gentle fingers were carding through my hair.

I opened my eyes and tipped my head, looking about for the other speakers. In two chairs off to one side sat Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, both of whom stopped talking when they saw I was awake. Madam Pomfrey came over and, as I lay there, his hand still moving over my head soothingly, she finished healing the wounds he couldn't. Neither Pomfrey nor Professor Dumbledore spoke a word about the ugly thing on my arm.

The Hogwarts medi-witch left shortly after ensuring herself and us that I would be okay, especially when I refused any pain potions until the lesser injuries healed on their own. Then, I concealed the wounds that were visible as the other two watched. I wasn't going to chance questions being asked by someone that didn't know what was happening and I didn't want him to have to see them every day.

I think what may have surprised them most was that I did the concealment charm without a wand, a talent that he asked me to teach him. Dumbledore stayed until it was early evening, speaking with him about inconsequential things and Order business that I was surprised to be allowed to hear of. He made a simple supper for the three of us, just tomato soup and toast, and the Headmaster left shortly after. I retired to my bed hours before he did, worn out still from being under my father's care.

It was only several hours later that I was awoken by harsh cries from somewhere in the house. My first reaction was that somehow my father had followed me home and was attacking my flat-mate. I grabbed my wand from where it lay on the bedside table and staggered as fast as I could through the flat to his room. There, I found him not being attacked by my father or a Death Eater, but by his own nightmares. I went to him and repeated the simple gesture that I had in the infirmary weeks earlier, though it felt like years ago now.

He awoke suddenly, unlike the last time, but didn't lash out, his eyes instantly recognizing who I was. We didn't talk about it; I simply offered him comfort until he fell asleep once again. Then, I returned to my own room and the fitful sleep that awaited me. My screams woke me from the nightmare, one where I was still trapped in the dungeons from just days ago. He was at my side barely a moment later, offering his soothing touch. Eventually he returned to his bed and both our sleeps were uninterrupted for the rest of that night, but it was not the last time our night went like that.

The next day my friends came over, wanting to know what had happened. I told them and they were only relieved that I was all right. The rest of the day was spent much like the previous with the exception of several hours spent practicing wandless magic and I was eternally grateful that he and I had both insisted we have some time off before our respective apprenticeships started. We had another two weeks before they began, mine on a Saturday, his on a Tuesday.

That night it was I who started the first round of nightmares. Then, it was his turn, and finally I had a second one near morning. We were both exhausted from lack of sleep over the past two nights so I simply moved over in my bed and he climbed in beside me. When we woke late the next morning, his head lay on my chest with one arm resting against my neck, his hand in my hair. My own arms were lightly crossed over his back. There was silence when we both were awake, but it wasn't really an uncomfortable silence. We didn't speak of it at all that day.

The next night much the same thing happened, though this time we ended up in his much smaller bed. By the end of the first week living together we had, by unspoken agreement, taken to sleeping beside each other in my bed. We quickly found that the nightmares were becoming scarce when we were next to each other and when we constantly woke in each other's arms, neither of us really said anything about it.

The next week his friends decided they wished to spend the week with him, though they were at least kind enough to assure him they had other sleeping accommodations. The first day they came I spent wandering the city, glad that I had chosen a flat in one of the older parts of the community, near a site of unearthed Roman ruins.

That night was the first time we truly fought with anger since our meetings at Hogwarts had begun. I didn't trust his friends. I didn't trust them not to snoop, especially as he wouldn't tell them anything about me, except that I had gone to Hogwarts with them. He claimed my fears were unfounded and I was being a spoiled git like always. We slept in separate beds that night and our nightmares returned full-force, as though punishing us for having stopped them for a time. Neither of us went to the other when the cries and screams woke us.

I was gone the next morning before he woke. I left my door closed, but with nothing else to stop anyone from looking. I had to know. I had to know if I was just acting, spoiled… and paranoid, or if his friends' curiosity was really that strong. I returned that night well after I knew that he would be asleep, only to find that my bedroom door was locked with magic and had simple wards to warn if someone touched it. I shrugged and undid the spells. Shortly after I climbed into my bed and fell again into a restless sleep.

This time, when the nightmares came I was gently woken by a soothing hand upon my arm. He crawled in beside me and buried his head under my chin with a muffled apology. It appeared that he had caught one of his friends about to open the door after he asked them not to. I apologized as well, mostly for not having been there the night before when he needed me.

We never mentioned the fight again and I had breakfast with him before I left the house, locking and warding the door to what I had begun to consider to be our bedroom. I had spent hours, days, wandering the city of Canterbury and taking the train to some of the smaller villages around the area, investigating anything that looked interesting. I made assurances to myself that someday I would bring him to these places, but not right then.

The last day his friends came visiting was the day before I started my apprenticeship. His friends cut the day short and he came looking for me, bringing along my friends as they had accompanied me on other outings and knew areas I liked to revisit. I was found standing on a small bridge near the Cathedral, watching the water as it ran underneath. They stood beside me, each sharing in the companionable silence. After some time he reached over and took my hand, squeezing it gently. We stayed like that for most of the day, even after we returned to our flat.

That night before we went to sleep beside each other he leaned over me and kissed me. Just a small, simple, little kiss, but it made my heart start to pound in my chest as I whispered a goodnight to him. Early the next morning I rose before he did and got ready for my first day as an apprentice. He awoke when I was ready to leave and surprised me again with another kiss before wishing me luck. I was half expecting the kiss that night and so returned it when he gave it. Then, when he started his apprenticeship, we kissed when we woke together and we kissed before we went our separate ways.

It took another week before the kisses became anything more than simple. He came home on a Thursday night with his arm in a sling and his other hand bandaged. It was only after I realized that I went overboard on the care and concern for his injuries that I admitted to myself that I cared for him as much more than just a friend. That night before bed I initiated the kiss, and there was no longer anything simple about it, though nothing happened that night beyond the kiss.

We continued on for nearly a month with just the kisses and the occasional touch that was more than friendly. Then, one night he came home and told me the war had officially started. He was leaving the next day to meet with the rest of the Order, his apprenticeship on hold with his teacher's permission. He didn't know how long it would take or when he'd be back. The 'IF' hung heavy in the air, but neither of us was brave enough to say it.

I don't know if he slept at all that night. I know that I didn't sleep much, but I had more sleep than him. That night was… beautiful. There's no other way I could describe it. There was more that we shared than just our bodies that night. Though I will say that I was sore the next morning when I awoke. I can only imagine that he must have been as well.

Then, I received a letter before I left the flat. My apprenticeship was postponed due to unavoidable causes. The time until it resumed was written as 'Indefinite'. Therefore, the Master that I was studying under was on Dumbledore's Order. I had seen him wear short sleeves. He did not have the mark. So all I could do was wait.


	3. 3 of 3

Title:Remind Me (2/2) 

**Disclaimer: I do not own, wish I did, but I don't. Anything recognizable including all characters, places, and images are under trademark through JKR and the companies that publish the books and make the movies. I only own my plot line.**

**Author: ShaeLynn Teelle**

**Warning: Slash/yaoi/guys with guys. Mixed p.o.v.**

**Inspiration: I'm always here to catch him when he falls. The man with the broken smile. And he will be loved. (I do not own the song and forget whom it's by.)**

**If someone wants to archive, please ask first. You won't be turned down, but I would like to know where it's going. Thank you.**

**Polite constructive criticism is welcome; FLAMES WILL BE FED TO THE DRAGON IN MY BED.**

_1st person p.o.v. present tense_

I am still waiting. Sitting here on the couch we shared so many times together, hands clenched so tightly my palms bleed, I wait. I wait as I study ingredients and effects of mixtures. I wait as I eat alone at the small kitchen table unless my friends are over for a chat. Sometimes I think they're more worried that I'll do something drastic, but I won't. I can't. Not when I don't know, when I have heard no news of his capture or death. I read the Prophet every day and the Quibbler. Neither press has written anything about him, anything about any of them.

Two days ago my mark burned. It burned for hours as though it was destroying itself from the inside out. Looking at the heavily scarred mark now, I think that may be what it did. That was two days ago and I have still heard no word about him. I am not panicking, yet. It will take at least another two days before I panic, but the anxiety is eating me alive.

Then, there is a knock on my door. I open it to see a weary Professor Snape standing there. He greets me with a nod, which I return. He takes me with him to St. Mungo's. My heart is pounding in my chest the entire time, afraid of the worst.

We reach the room just in time to see an orderly fly across the room from a burst of magic. I catch the vial he had held in his hand before his feet left the ground. I look around the room to see a second orderly already on the ground. The other two parts of the group are here as well, both glaring daggers at me for being there, but they say nothing and I remember that Professor Snape is still standing beside me.

He gestures me towards the bed and I see from the corner of my eye that the other three in the room, the two/thirds of the trio and the one's sister, tense, their anger almost palpable in the small enclosed area. I would smirk at them, but the majority of my attention is on the figure in the hospital bed. He twitches and moves in a fevered nightmare as I can see the sweat on his pale face.

I give no more of my attention to the Gryffindors. I hand the vial I had caught to the Professor and move with silent purpose towards my distressed lover. I enjoy for a brief moment the way that title fits on my tongue in regards to him. It seems right. It seems so right. The Gryffindors are watching me as I reach out towards him, their faces a mix between anger and amusement as they likely think I am going to elicit the same reaction as the orderlies.

If I wasn't truly worried about him I would laugh at the looks of shock on their faces that I catch from the corner of my eye when I take his hand with mine and nothing happens. At least, nothing happens to me. His restlessness slowly subsides at my touch and I reach with my other hand to brush the sweaty fringe of hair from his forehead. It is a minute or two later when he finally opens his eyes and looks up at me, a smile crossing his features. Then, it's as though he realizes where he is and what he had been doing before he awoke here. He sits up on his own, only a brief flash of pain crossing his features.

Then, he nearly falls against me, his face buried in the crook between my neck and shoulder, his unoccupied hand clutching the back of my robes tightly. I wrap my free arm about his waist, holding him securely. The hands we have clasped together I pull up between us so they rest against our hearts and I lightly rest my head against his, offering as much comfort as I can when I don't know what happened. Eventually, after I am sure that at least one of the Gryffindors has lost consciousness, he pulls away and asks me of the final battle.

Before I can make a witty comment that I'm sure would amuse him, Professor Snape answers. He defeated Voldemort. Everything about the Dark Lord was completely destroyed, soul and all. He smiles at the Professor, an action I am sure he has never bestowed on that particular teacher. Then, he leans his head against my shoulder once again and stays like that. Only minutes later do I realize he has fallen asleep, but this time a peaceful sleep.

The next day I stand from the uncomfortable chair I had spent the night in and stretch. Professor Snape enters the room along with Gryffindors, too many of them for my liking. The Professor apologizes to me in a voice so low none of the others can hear him. It seems he has to stand trial again at the Ministry and only McGonagall's help can save him, but he promises to return later. Then, he is gone from the room and I am left alone with the people I had tormented the most, the one family, plus extended, that was the closest thing to a rival my family had ever had.

I am not too surprised when his best friend comes over and grabs my left arm, the one whose hand is holding his. I hiss slightly in pain, the scarred area of the mark still tender and sore. The Gryffindor's face lights in a sort of triumph as he pulls my hand away from my lover's and holds it immobile while the other pushes my sleeve up to my elbow.

They must have seen the destroyed mark before for one of the older ones, I don't know whom, runs out the door calling for Aurors. I meet each of the remaining Gryffindors' eyes, hoping that one of them might say something; anything to stop what I know is going to happen. As I see the emotions they cannot conceal in their eyes, I know that not one of them will move to help me.

I break away from the one still holding my arm and lean over my lover. I breathe my love and my good-byes within that resting ear, knowing I will not have the chance to do so ever again. Then, Aurors grab me from behind and pull me away from the bed. The only struggle I make is when I turn for one last look at the sleeping form I have known for so short a time. Then, I am outside of the room and I struggle no more as I am escorted from St. Mungo's to whatever fate the Ministry decrees.

_3rd person p.o.v._

Dumbledore had died in the war, Lucius Malfoy literally stabbing him in the back. Snape went on trial and it was only through multiple character witnesses, some of Dumbledore's last wishes, and McGonagall's efforts that he was not sent to Azkaban. Harry would have been used as the main witness, but he had only woken the day before and the Ministry refused to delay the trial.

Then, a rat was found. In the Ministry's folly, they believed it a miracle that one of the infamous Sirius Black's victims had managed to escape with his life and they awarded him the Black holdings. Two days after Draco Malfoy was taken to Azkaban without trial or evidence beyond the scarring of the Dark Mark on his arm, a representative from the Ministry went to St. Mungo's to inform Harry Potter of the good news. The news of Black's victim was met with shouting from all areas and an investigation was immediately initiated and Aurors were sent out to fetch him back for questioning. They were too late. Peter Pettigrew had taken as many galleons as he could carry and fled the country, leaving nothing behind to trace him. The rat had escaped again.

Then, Harry was informed of the fate of the last Malfoy. The Ministry representative barely made it out of the room intact. Harry's magic blew out of control at the knowledge that his lover had been wrongfully imprisoned and he could only remember the state his godfather had been in coming out of Azkaban prison. Not long after the outburst of magic had occurred, Harry relapsed into the nightmare and stress filled sleep he had been in before. This time the medics gave him very little hope of coming out of the nightmares on his own. No one could get nearer than the edge of his bed before they were thrown across the room, even his best friends.

From the day he had returned to the nightmares and the Ministry had been informed of the reason why, Professor Minerva McGonagall and Headmaster Severus Snape, a unanimous decision by the Board of Governors, spent every spare moment they could going through department after department to get Draco Malfoy released from Azkaban Prison. A week later the paperwork had finally been finished, the two Professors constantly having dogged its steps until it was completed and Headmaster Snape left to retrieve an innocent soul.

_3rd person p.o.v._

The door to the private room opened slowly, causing everyone's attention towards it and away from the restless man on the bed. The man that had still not awoken in eight days of nightmares. Gasps echoed through the suddenly silent room, some of shock and some of rage, as Snape entered the room. It wasn't the Headmaster that caused the mixed effect, but rather the blonde he helped into the room. He was trembling slightly, there were dark circles under his eyes, and smudges of dirt on his face. They were the only signs that he had been anywhere unpleasant. Ron could be heard grumbling about why he needed help into the room if he looked just fine after spending ten days in Azkaban.

At that Draco pulled away from Snape's helping hands and, as proudly as he could, made slow progress to Harry's side. His unhindered progress was halted when, in the midst of one step and the next, the room tilted sideways and spun. Swaying on one foot, he stumbled and would have fallen if Minerva hadn't been right there to catch him. She helped him right himself and offered her support the rest of the way to the bed as his stubbornness at Ron's comment had sapped much of what was left of his strength.

The trembling that he couldn't control went from simply noticeable to glaringly obvious and much of the color that had been in his pale skin fled. It took the two much longer than it should have to reach Harry's side. The Gryffindor Head of House helped Draco perch shakily on the edge of the bed with no ill effects to either and stayed nearby in case he needed additional assistance. No one noticed the two Aurors that entered the room as well as the Minister of Magic to verify that Draco was innocent except for Snape, but he refused to allow the Minister anywhere closer than inside the doorway.

The blonde reached out severely trembling hands, placing one on Harry's shoulder and the other brushing the black hair away from his forehead. "Harry… Harry, you need to wake up, now."

The normally arrogant voice was soft, gentle, and ragged as though from disuse or overuse. Long moments passed and Draco stayed where he was, carefully brushing the Gryffindor's hair from his eyes. The others in the room around him, those that didn't trust him and wanted him back in Azkaban, including the Minister, grew restless. The majority of them had been glaring at him the entire time he had been in the room. Draco took no notice; all his concentration lay on the now still figure in the bed that very slowly began to stir.

"Draco?" Harry asked carefully after opening his eyes and blinking them several times to the sound of relieved sighs from all around him.

"Hey," Draco answered just as quietly as before, his one hand still brushing the hair from Harry's forehead. "You really got to stop with this saving everyone kick. It's going to get us both killed."

Draco smiled slightly at his lover, hoping that he was still too disorientated to start asking questions, but that hope was cut short when Harry opened his mouth again.

"What happened?" Harry asked, bringing one hand up to caress the side of Draco's face, causing the blonde to wince.

Draco answered, knowing what the other was asking him, "Harry, we both know that even without Dementors, Azkaban is not a nice place."

"But you weren't a Death Eater. You didn't want it."

"There are few trials, now. If you have the scar from the mark they send you to Azkaban. No questions asked."

"Take them off, 'Co," Harry said in a strained voice, confusing everyone else in the room except Draco, but they had never needed many words between them.

Draco nodded briefly and hung his head. As everyone watched, many expressions turned to shock and outrage, though no longer against the blonde Slytherin, but in reaction to his state. The Minister, seeing the reaction, tried to back out of the room, but Snape and the two Aurors, Kingsley and Tonks, blocked his retreat.

Draco's robes became dirtier and shabbier, the left sleeve missing completely. The Dark Mark stood out in the scar, but it, and the rest of Draco's left arm, was covered in open scratches and dirt. His hair, once the silvery blonde they had all known, was dirtied to a dark blonde, stringy and obviously unwashed for far too many days. His feet also drew everyone else's attention as the 'shoes' he was wearing disappeared, leaving him barefoot. Dirt and dried blood was ground into the soles, which were cut from rocks and other debris.

His slightly harsh breaths became shallower and choppy. The trembling which had been obvious before had become outright shaking, the severe movements almost enough to move him from his tentative perch on the edge of the bed. Harry didn't take notice of this by more than a perfunctory glance. He was looking intently at Draco's face, waiting to see his eyes. When the Slytherin finally looked up, Harry sat up as well in surprise, despite his friend's protests.

"Co!" the Gryffindor exclaimed, turning the other's face gently so he could see the eyes more clearly in the light.

Those that were on the right side of the room to see gasped or backed away a step. Not only was Draco's face dirty and dried blood ran from his lip to his chin, but his eyes were unlike any they had ever seen before. They were glassy and bright from fever, but inside there was nothing there. They were empty, almost like his hope or his will to live had been taken from him. Harry leaned his forehead against Draco's watching as the gray eyes were hidden behind lids bruised from lack of sleep. He muttered a strong cleaning charm, still holding Draco's face with one hand.

When the spell finished its cleaning Draco was free of dirt, though he didn't look much better from the bruises. Then, he opened his eyes and those that had seen them before noticed that there was a spark, very tiny, that showed there was spirit still left in the blonde Slytherin. Harry leaned away with a soft smile, one hand still caressing the other's cheek.

Draco leaned forward suddenly, one hand clapped over his mouth. His head rested against Harry's chest as he coughed violently. The coughing seemed to go on for a long time and Tonks left quickly at Snape's command, calling for a medi-witch when she was outside the door. Harry held his lover securely the entire time and when the coughing finally subsided he eased the blonde Slytherin back until he was lying on the bed.

There was fresh blood in a sparkling line from the corner of his mouth following the path of dried blood the cleaning spell had removed. Draco's breathing had grown more ragged and thick, the rough sound of liquid barely heard. Draco's face was pinched slightly in pain as Harry looked at him in concern. Gently, the Gryffindor brushed the spell-cleaned hair from his lover's forehead. Leaning down Harry brushed his lips against Draco's ignoring the blood at the corner of his mouth and the shocked cries from around him.

Harry spoke as he finally pulled back, "Don't worry, Draco. You'll be okay. You'll get better and we'll go home and the Ministry will issue an apology to you and to me for letting Wormtail escape and we'll have so many wards on the flat that no one can enter unless we say they can and no one will hurt you again and—" Harry's words were cut off by Draco's fingers briefly touching his lips.

There was still a smile on the blonde's lips from the kiss, though a small one. Draco shook his head slightly, "Harry, you're talking too much. Just don't leave me. That's all I need. That's all I've needed for months now. Just don't leave me, please."

"Never. I'll never leave you, 'Co. No matter what anyone says, I'll never leave."

"I love you," Draco sighed and closed his eyes, the tiny smile still present on his face.

Even when Tonks returned with a team of medi-wizards just as another coughing fit overtook him, Draco was content just for the fact that Harry was beside him, soothingly rubbing his back through the entire fit. They would settle things with the Ministry and the Weasleys later. He would be happy just to be left alone as long as he was with Harry.


End file.
